Letters and left behinds
by pfangirl
Summary: An archive spot for any miscellaneous Tomb Raider stories and drabbles that are too short and/or undeveloped to warrant their own FF entry, and don't fall under the Sometimes It's Just Like That college-days classification. Spoiler warnings where necessary.
1. Legacy

**Legacy**

 _Note: No Rise spoilers_

My dearest Lara

Lately I've been struggling with such feelings of regret. For being apart from you so much. For no doubt making it seem like my work is more important than you.

I swear that's not true.

You are the reason I do this. You, and so many others like you; torn from their mothers at such an unforgivably young age. It is a cruelty that if possible to eliminate, should be… It is exactly this that I'm trying to do, even as others scoff and ladle scorn on my theories.

I don't want to burden you with this. You're so bright, and growing so fast, sometimes it's easy to forget that you are still just a child. I am sorry.

If I'm being honest, I probably won't even send this tape. It's just that tonight, sitting alone in my tent with too much whisky in me, I feel an overwhelming need to get everything out. To expel the anguish like it's a poison.

Most of the time I experience a sensation of profound emptiness, but on occasion I find sorrow has filled me to the brim without my even realising it.

You see, I've been thinking about your mother a great deal lately. Brooding, Roth would say.

He's not wrong.

I don't think you can even remember her now. That alone is reason for bitterness.

I keep recalling the first few days after we lost her. You were so young. There was no way you could grasp what had happened, and you were constantly looking for her. There was nothing I could do to console you. You wanted her, and her alone. For the first time you fought against my embraces, bawling and pounding me with your fists. How I deserved it.

Yours was such a pure expression of grief; the same grief I felt. Every glance at your red, tear-streaked face was an acknowledgement that you would grow up without her, and it felt like a knife plunging into my chest, over and over. The only thing that hurt more was the day that you finally stopped looking.

Thank God for Roth. He refused to let me wallow, for your sake.

I owe him so much.

Your mother too.

She once told me, "Richard, it's noble to face adversity head on." I repeat that to myself every day. What she saw in this bookish, slightly balding history buff I'll never understand. But she inspired me to be stronger. Braver. A better man.

I see so much of Amelia in you, Lara. Her fire. Her fearlessness. Her heart.

Maybe that is the only way a soul truly lives on, and transcends death – through our children. I don't know. I hope not, otherwise all my work of the past decade or so – all my sacrifice – has been in vain.

Goodness, I'm rambling.

My greatest wish for you, Lara, is that you will never know such a feeling of responsibility for your actions as I have. Guilt is a volatile fuel, I see that. And yet, it has taken me so far. I hope it is far enough. Because I can't go back, as far as this path has led me into shame and darkness.

One day I hope you will understand – and forgive me for everything I have cost us.

May you always walk in the sun, my darling girl.

Love,

Dad


	2. Unseen conversations

**Unseen Conversations**

"So… how long have you been in love with Lara?"

Sam almost sprayed a mouthful of beer across the table.

"Kaz! Jesus!"

The freshly peroxided girl shrugged, "What? It's not like I'm wrong."

"You don't just – You can't – I mean – It's not – "

"Sam Nishimura at a loss for words," Kaz grinned. "I didn't think that was possible."

Sam glared at her companion.

Undeterred, Kaz continued, "Seriously, I thought you guys were a couple for the longest time. Back in the Ukraine, Lara was always 'Sam this and Sam that…' The way she went on about you. Then I got here and found out you had separate rooms."

"We're not together."

She put a bit too much weight on each syllable. Kaz was too perceptive to buy such a clunky denial.

"But you want to be."

"I – " Sam sighed. "I've thought about it, okay?"

Kaz stretched out in her seat, looking inordinately pleased with herself. "I knew it. I knew my gaydar was picking up something."

Sam took another sip of her drink. The direction this conversation was turning, she suspected she'd cope better if she was buzzed. A little booze would sail her straight over the jagged doubts and discomfort.

She muttered into her glass, "I am bi, actually. I just don't advertise that fact because of the stupid stigma. It's easier being known as one or the other."

Kaz frowned, "I hear you…" Then her face brightened with excitement. "So, how long?"

"Have I been bi?"

"No. Into Lara."

"Oh." Sam's eyes darted around the Jolly Nag's Head. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation in a grimy London pub.

 _When would the damn alcohol kick in so she wouldn't care anymore?_

"Scoot up." Recognising her friend's anxiety, Kaz had slipped around the booth and into the space next to the filmmaker.

"How long, Sam? Honest. Girl to girl."

"I think it's been coming for a while."

Kaz snorted.

That at least broke some of the tension. Sam knuckled the hacker in the bicep, and laughed, "Oh, shut up!"

Then, back to serious matters, she explained, "If I look back on our friendship now, I can see how important Lara has always been to me. She's really special, and I guess I recognised that right from the start. That, and how unfair her life has been.

"I don't know why that fact hit me so hard, but I wanted to make up for it. I wanted her to be happy; remind her to have some fun every now and then. You don't see it nearly enough but she has the most beautiful smile."

Kaz smirked, "And that ass."

"Oh God, that ass." Sam rolled her eyes skywards.

"I will say one thing for my brother. He did have exceptional taste." Kaz held up her beer and Sam chinked glasses with a chuckle.

Almost immediately afterwards, though, she felt her mood plummet.

She frowned into the golden liquid before her. "I didn't exactly pine for Lara but I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to please her. Lara has this big hang-up about her inheritance, but I don't. With my trust fund, there was loads I could do to make her life easier – help her dreams come true."

Her shoulders sagged. "Even Yamatai. I helped that happen when all the original funding fell through. Lara maintains it's all her fault but getting my uncle to invest makes me responsible too."

Kaz pulled a face. "God, you two and blaming yourselves. You are perfect for each other."

A wry laugh clambered up Sam's throat.

"Yamatai changed everything, including my feelings for Lara. I mean, how can anyone ever compare to her now? She won't talk about what happened exactly, but I know she went through hell to save me. She literally carried me down a mountain.

"And I know saying that makes it sound like my feelings are just some warped form of gratitude – the princess gifting her hero knight with a kiss – but it's more than that. She's the perfect woman. Brave, smart, ridiculously gorgeous. I can't imagine my life without her."

Kaz squeezed the filmmaker's shoulder reassuringly.

She added, "Well, you sport the biggest lady boner for her. It's so obvious."

Sam placed her hand over her friend's. She grinned, "Heh. I guess I haven't exactly been subtle."

"You could say that again. The endless innuendo, all the touches and caresses, not to mention the _babes_ and _sweeties_ ; the only time I ever had that with another girl, she ended up as my wife."

 _Tragedy touches everyone._

Sam murmured, "You miss her?"

"Every day." Kaz raised her beer to her lips and swallowed heavily. "It would be so easy to go find a hit, and just escape for a while, but I know how disappointed Lucya would be."

"Shit. I'm so sorry, Kaz."

The hacker shrugged. "Take my advice, Sam. Don't end up like Alex. Don't leave it too late. Life is fucking unpredictable."

"Tell me about it."

A gloomy silence settled on the table.

Normally Sam would be the one to forcibly change the mood, but she had sunk thigh deep into despondency. Kaz was the one to haul them out.

The blonde ruffled her freshly cropped and bleached hair. "God, look at us sitting here crying into our beers…"

She turned to face Sam.

"Right, I have a question. So, Lara, is she…?"

Sam easily interpreted the unsaid.

"I don't know. She's never really had time for dating, though I know she's hooked up with a guy at least once in the time I've known her. She had to be quite drunk, but still.

"Mostly she's always been really uncomfortable around men who show any kind of interest in her. Like incredibly uncomfortable – _complete_ personality change. She was like that with Alex. She was very reluctant to interact with him at all; always had this pained expression like she was worried about doing anything to lead him on."

"My poor big brother."

Sam leaned in to share her next confidence. "I will say though, the only thing that seems to excite Lara apart from archaeology and Jaffa Cakes is girls. She's always making new friends. I can't leave her alone for five minutes before she has a new gal pal."

She winked at Kaz. "Hell, she even brings home strange girls from Eastern Europe."

That restored some levity. The two young women snickered together.

Sam continued, "I believe there's even this Art student at Oxford who she hit it off with on a train ride. Lara told me she's going to take her up on her offer to _stay with her_ next time she's in town for a lecture or something."

Kaz's eyebrows climbed. "Sleepovers with college girls. So there's hope?"

"Hmmph. Lara would say we're reading too much into things. That we're twisting truths to suit our theories."

"Well, when you're not straight, you're a lot more open to alternate trains of thought. You have to be."

"I know that. But Lara…" Sam plunged her face into her palms and groaned, "God, when it doesn't have to do with solving History's greatest mysteries, she can be so _infuriatingly_ dense at times. Completely switched off."

Kaz cocked her head. "I got that impression. So what are you going to do about things?"

"About my liking Lara?"

"Yeah. She's clearly not the type of person who will wake up one day and go 'Oh, that's what Sam was hinting at.'"

The filmmaker slumped back in her seat. "I dunno. I don't see anything changing. Right now I just want to be back in her life. She's been shutting me out a lot lately when we used to do everything together. I guess she's worried about me getting in the way or getting hurt, and then having to rescue me again. It's humiliating."

"Oh, I had no idea things were strained between you two."

"They're not really." Sam winced, "Everything is cool as far as Lara is concerned. It's me. I just need to find a way to prove to her – and myself – that I'm not useless. That I can sort out my problems on my own."

Kaz frowned, "That's a big burden to bear alone, Sam. You went through a lot on that island too."

"I'll be okay. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, if you ever need someone to tal – Holy shit!" Kaz's head shot up. "How does she do it?"

Sam followed her friend's wide-eyed gaze to the pub entrance.

 _Holy shit_ was right.

There was Lara pushing open the door. She looked a bit dishevelled as she clutched the dripping pink Miffy umbrella Sam had bought her as a joke.

More curious though was the brunette's sheepish expression.

A second later, it made sense.

The sheep was shepherding a striking blonde into the Jolly Nag's Head. Sam didn't know the young woman – evidently the latest in Lara's sexy stray collection – but she was very familiar with the aura of vivacity and confidence radiating from the girl. She had to be an actress; most likely starring in Jonah's Pride and Prejudice adaptation. It was the same production the big man had guilted Lara into joining.

Sam's arm shot up, snaring her best friend's attention. "Lara! Lara!"

The archaeologist sighted her and her face immediately brightened, giving Sam's heart a jolt.

The filmmaker could sense Kaz's smirk at her sudden feigned sunniness for Lara's sake. That earned the hacker a boot tap to her ankle.

"Ow!"

Still, the pair were on their best, benign-smile behaviour by the time Lara reached them.

Ever the model of public school manners, the brunette started with introductions. "This is Andrea. She's in the play with me."

Of course now the beer would finally kick in. She was still smiling but Sam's could feel her tongue sprinting past her brain. There was no way she could stop herself in time.

Inside she was screaming, but outside was another matter entirely.

Her gaze tracked from Lara to her co-star, and Sam cheerfully addressed the blonde, "So, how's her Kitty, Andrea?"

While the actress fumbled for a diplomatic response, Sam received her very own, well deserved kick under the table.


	3. To break a Croft

**To break a Croft**

 _Set three years after Rise of the Tomb Raider. Contains Rise spoilers._

"Wakey wakey, Miss Croft."

Lara attempted to open her eyes. It was a simple action but it was accompanied by a sensation like someone had brought an axe down on her skull.

It said something about the Englishwoman's lifestyle that she was by now intimately familiar with the cause of the migraine: yet another concussion by rifle butt.

She groaned.

 _How many more strikes could she take before the damage was permanent?_

Her own voice answered dispassionately. _No time for musings, Croft. Get moving if you want to survive._

She tried.

Although it was still a struggle to lift her eyelids, slowly her other senses were coming back to her. Hearing, though muffled and directionless, had been first.

Now it was touch's turn. She realised her cheek was pressed against stone, along with the full length of her body.

The tang of blood tickled her tongue.

 _Get up._

She flexed her fingertips against the cool surface, trying to set a reliable base. But before the tension could spread to her larger muscle groups, fists clamped around her biceps.

She was hauled upright with a speed that made her dizzy.

And nauseous.

When the world righted, she started to make visual sense of her situation.

She was in a high-ceilinged cave, illuminated by orange glowsticks strewn about the space.

She couldn't remember just then how she got there, or why, but it had the aura of a cathedral. Stalactites and stalagmites slick with water caught the glow. Out the corner of the eye they could be confused with rudimentary pillars supporting the ceiling.

They also created a kind of nave, leading the viewer's gaze to an elevated basin at the far side of the cave. Perpetual run-off had eroded the ground around the basin so it appeared raised, and tiered with stairs, just like an altar.

Lara was herself a piece of church imagery. She was strung up in a crucifixion pose between two men in combat gear and balaclava. Even if her limbs weren't weak in the aftermath of unconsciousness, each soldier had a minimum of 50 pounds on her.

Just as disconcerting was the dark-skinned woman standing before the archaeologist, flanked by two more armoured brutes.

The priestess and her acolytes.

Unlike her companions, the woman didn't wear a mask, but she was similarly kitted out in monochrome army fatigues, a multi-pocketed tactical vest and joint guards.

The convenient positioning of pistol and combat knife on her vest meant no thought was necessary if she needed to draw.

Lara felt her skin prickle – her body's instinctual response to threat.

Whoever this woman was, she was the real danger. The tiger in the cave.

She radiated menace despite being essentially the same height and build as the archaeologist.

The woman wore her hair in a tight, all-business bun. She also wore an unsettling, soft smile.

"Nice to see you back with us," she said.

Her accent was hard to place. Not American for once. West African perhaps, through the filter of a lingering colonial education system?

Lara glared at her.

"Who are you?" the archaeologist rasped.

"That's irrelevant. What _is_ important is who I work for."

The woman tapped the badge on her left bicep. The insignia was a winged figure in black on a blood-red inverted triangle.

Lara grimaced.

Of course.

Trinity.

Always bloody Trinity.

Her own dedicated Angel of Death, forever sweeping in after her.

The memories of everything they'd put her through – everything they had done to her family – revitalised Lara.

Despite her headache, despite her frequently blurring vision, she felt defiance flow through her like delicious molten chocolate.

The woman could sense Lara's mood shift. She held out her arms. "You seem surprised. Some people actually do accept Trinity's recruitment offers, you know. We recognise the opportunity when _others_ turn it down."

Lara knew that was true. Kennard Montez and his companions had been her first indication that Trinity was creating a reservoir of young blood. The woman standing before her was further evidence of that. She looked straight out of uni, younger even than Lara in her mid-twenties.

Still, the archaeologist wouldn't give her opponent the satisfaction of a reaction.

She stayed silent.

The woman wasn't at all enraged by her suddenly sullen captive.

She approached the brunette, stopping wisely just out of head-butt range.

Up close, Lara realised that the Trinity agent actually had a good half foot on her. In a hand-to-hand fight, she would probably be more of a handful than Reyes.

The woman unhooked a canteen from her belt, and unscrewed the cap.

"Here. I think you can do with this more than me."

She pressed the bottle to Lara's lips.

Lara accepted a mouthful of water.

And spat it straight back in the woman's face.

It was massively satisfying.

If massively stupid.

A second after she did it, the woman's right-hand man strode forward. He delivered a brutal upper hook to Lara's diaphragm.

Shielded only by a wetsuit, the brunette's body took the full force of the blow.

Lara tried to suck in air; to cry out. She could do neither.

One ineffectual wheeze was all she managed.

The Trinity operative struck her twice more for good measure.

The precision with which he delivered the one-two body shots told her he had a boxing background. Each landed square on their intended marks.

Solar plexus.

Liver.

Lara sagged white-faced between her captors. It was an equal battle against vomiting and passing out.

The boxer turned back to his commander. "Faro, you want me to continue?"

The woman was wiping her face. She gave an amiable wave, and the man moved away from Lara.

Into his spot stepped Faro. She chuckled, "My, you are tenacious."

She raised her canteen again.

An instant later, the boxer was back. He pinched Lara's jaw open while Faro tipped the bottle down the archaeologist's throat.

Lara choked as her oxygen-deprived body tried to inhale the fluid instead of swallowing. Embarrassing reflex tears blinded her, and ran over her cheeks. Eventually though, her captor seemed content that she had swallowed enough water.

Faro sighed, "There. We're not all monsters."

The insubordination may have been pummelled out of her for a moment, but the beating had at least flushed Lara's brain with blood and adrenalin. She remembered where she was; why she was there.

* * *

The cenote had been the key. The Mexican authorities were clamping down on unpermitted dives at sites with especial historical and environment significance. She didn't have a permit, of course, given her plans, so she'd had to flash a few envelopes in front of the right people.

One hefty bribe later, a local guide was helping her sneak into the sinkhole after dark.

The codex she'd unearthed pointed to that specific pool, located far into the Yucatan Peninsula. However, after a few hours of exploring the walls at different depths, she was beginning to believe she'd botched the translation.

That was until, groping around in a halocline, her fingers brushed over an unexpected edge. It was impossible to spot in the swirling haze, but there was a gap in the bedrock.

She had to shrug out of her buoyancy compensator to squeeze through the crack, carefully manoeuvring her dive gear after her.

On the other side, the space opened up into a flooded cave system studded with pockets of air.

She actually whooped her excitement.

She was close. She could feel it.

The discovery energised her when she needed it most. Her contacts had told her that there was another archaeology team hunting for the same thing – but over land. Not beneath the earth, like her.

Floating then, with her ears above the groundwater, Lara heard tools scraping against stone.

Her rivals were close too.

The Tomb Raider had to get there first.

She did.

Or at least she _thought_ she did.

The egg-size lump on the back of her skull indicated otherwise.

* * *

It was still difficult to focus. Pain and cognition mixed in their own murky halocline.

She was hurt.

And frustrated.

She muttered, "Right. Well let's get this over with."

Faro was back to smiling again. "What do you mean?"

"You threaten me at gunpoint. Smack me around a bit. Torture me for information about this place. I know the drill."

"Interesting."

"Of course, if you're familiar with the drill, you'll know that at some point I escape and you all die horribly."

"Thanks for the tip. But I see things playing out a little differently today."

Lara was supposed to respond with a question; allow her captor to continue the fat chat she was clearly relishing.

But as furious as the archaeologist was, her beating had reminded her that silence was typically more valuable than a smart mouth. She clamped down on her tongue. She was in no mood to play the woman's game.

Faro had to continue the elaboration without verbal encouragement.

"You've been underestimated for years, Lara. Do you mind if I call you Lara? I've read so much about you in our records, I feel like I know you intimately."

She ran her index finger over the scar streaking the Englishwoman's right cheekbone. "I know exactly how you got this, for example."

Her hand dipped and stroked the muscle above Lara's left hip. "And this."

Faro unsheathed her knife and nicked Lara's wetsuit at the throat. She sliced just deep enough to part the neoprene and not skin.

It was a nifty demonstration of her skill. No doubt in a fight she would be devastating with the weapon.

Lara didn't flinch. She could feel the carbon teasing her flesh but any motion would be an acknowledgement of fear.

The woman brushed aside the wetsuit fabric, exposing the archaeologist's neck and breastbone. She plucked at the jade pendant resting there. "I even know why you never take this off."

Lara muttered, "You've done your research. Well done. Let me go and I'll give you your Noddy Badge."

"Ha. I don't think so."

Faro returned the blade to its holster. "You've been criminally misjudged in the past." Her smile brightened, "Why is it that men see a young woman and immediately dismiss her as _just a girl_? Like she's completely inconsequential. Their egos can't handle it."

 _Chatty, this one._

"Women though, they know a threat when they see one. They're not fooled by the apparently insignificant form it takes. They just _know_. Am I right?"

"I took Archaeology at university, not Gender Studies."

Faro wagged her finger at Lara. "Ana recognised the truth about you when her brother wouldn't. The way Konstantin saw it, how could you be a threat to his divinely ordained Destiny? One orphaned, banged up girl all alone… Ana identified what you are, though. So have I.

"I'm actually a huge admirer, Lara. You inspire me. Your mind, your theories; everything you've accomplished already. You're my role-model. One day, I hope to be you, but working within Trinity, of course. Hell, if that happens, maybe they'll finally leave you alone."

Lara shrugged, "Is there a point to all this?"

"How many times have people tried to destroy you now?"

Something flashed in Faro's eyes. It reminded Lara of snakeskin glimpsed for a second by torchlight.

Something bad was coming. The archaeologist felt her muscles harden under her wetsuit, and hoped it didn't reflect physically.

"Let me guess?" Faro hissed. "All they ever attempted was the obvious: killing you or professionally discrediting you? Ana, though, she spoke about breaking you. She never did, but I remember replaying that tape over and over and thinking 'What a glorious missed opportunity!'

"But it gave me an idea. Ana was on to something. How could we _break_ the devastatingly resilient Lara Croft – Trinity's most difficult _problem_? And I realised my organisation had gone about it the wrong way for, what, three years since Kitezh?"

"So you volunteered to break me." Lara arched an eyebrow.

"There are many others dying for the opportunity, but the decision-makers liked my proposal. And in the end, events have dovetailed perfectly."

"So what's it going to be?"

Faro seemed delighted to share her ideas. The megalomaniacs always were. She was practically bouncing; energised like a little girl promised a visit to the zoo.

"I honestly thought about crippling you. You're such a physical creature. How effective would you be if you were trapped in a useless body? But knowing you, you'd still find a way to be a headache.

"No. I settled on a better idea. What frightens you, Lara, truly?"

"Completing my tax return. Public speaking. Running into girls I went to school with."

Faro burst out laughing. "Why do the reports never mention your wit?"

Lara smiled back, sweetly. "Maybe because they're more preoccupied with recording the body count?"

Faro's grin faded. "That's a good point. You've had to do some awful things, haven't you?"

" _Had to_ being the operative words. I wouldn't have done anything if Trinity wasn't dead-set on murdering me."

"Oooh, I can tell it's a sensitive point for you. Understandably."

"Everything I've done, I've done to survive."

"Now that's where I stop believing you. You crossed certain lines a long time ago, Lara, whether you cling to certain self-delusions or not. How many men have died simply for getting in your way?"

"I've _never_ enjoyed killing."

"You've clearly never seen your face. There's _satisfaction_ there, beneath the rage."

Lara knew she was foolishly following breadcrumbs to the gingerbread house, but her temper was rising.

"Go to Hell," she growled.

"There's a reason Trinity has put so much effort into recruiting you, Lara. You're exactly the type of person we prize. Cold. Objective focused. You do whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes to stop you bastards."

"And in your downtime, you've spent a lot of time wondering what kind of person you've become as a result. I know all about your therapy sessions. All those delicious confessions. The guilt. The nightmares."

Lara felt like Faro had seen her naked. It disgusted the archaeologist, and made her angrier.

The Trinity operative continued to needle. "How much of your humanity is left, do you think? Kind of ironic for someone who is all about protecting what it means to be human."

"You think you're going to break me by making me examine these questions? I've been grappling with them for years."

"No." Faro's gentle smile returned. "I realised breaking you isn't about taking things away from you. It's about giving you something to complete the transformation."

"What transformation?" The words were heavy and ominous in her mouth.

"To something no longer human."

Faro spread her arms in welcome. "You couldn't have led us to a more perfect place."

 _No._

The puzzle tiles slid into position, revealing the image she hadn't recognised before.

Lara strained in the men's arms, trying to tug herself free. She thrashed and kicked, but lifting her feet off the ground only reduced drag and made it easier to carry her across the chamber.

"No! Fuck! Let go! Bastards!"

It was no good. Of course she couldn't beat them on strength, even running on desperate adrenalin as she was then.

They tugged her wrists behind her back, and forced her onto her knees.

Into a penitent pose.

She gazed down into it for the first time then – the object of her most recent quest. Months of research had gone into finding it, whatever you wanted to call it.

The Fountain of Youth.

Water of Immortality.

It looked so banal – just a basin of cool, clear liquid.

Fingers clenched around the back of Lara's skull and her face was plunged into the pool.

It seemed like they held her under for minutes.

She didn't stop struggling. There was the possibility she could unbalance one of the men; create a split-second where their grip loosened and she had a shot at escape.

It didn't work.

Eventually she was tugged out of the water by her ponytail, and swung around to face her captor.

Water dripped off the tip of Lara's nose and chin as she seethed. Given the opportunity, she was ready to snap at Faro's features, but evidently the young woman had no fear of dog's teeth.

"Did you enjoy your baptism, Lara? Over-dramatic, I know, but I think it makes a lovely point."

"Sod off."

"What better way to get answers than to experience them first hand, as opposed to simply reading about them in a dusty old book? Isn't that the basic difference between an archaeologist and a historian?"

Lara sprang at Faro.

It was a sudden enough motion that she managed to surge free of her guard. For three whole heartbeats.

It was worth it for the flicker of fear on Faro's face.

 _Not so bloody cocky now, are you?_

An elbow connected with Lara's cheek.

Stunned, the element of surprise turned against her. A flurry of pushing and pulling ended with her back on her knees. Immobilised.

"I'm not going to drink," the brunette snarled. "You'll have to drown me."

Faro's lips curled. "I think that may be unnecessary."

She held up her water bottle and shook it.

 _No! Dear God, no._

"Sorry, Lara, I've been screwing with you."

Faro dropped her hand in signal. Immediately the men pinning Lara released her.

The archaeologist was still reeling, mentally and physically.

She recognised three muzzle flashes. She heard three gunshots. And she felt three bullets rip into her body.

The expected, excruciating pain was there.

But there was something else too. An unfamiliar disconnect.

 _This doesn't matter._

Her unnervingly steady hand sought out the wound just below her heart. Her eyes followed.

The puncture was there, but there wasn't nearly enough blood. She was too functional. As she traced the hole, it filled in with ruby scabbing. White wisps of scar tissue crawled over the surface like ice over a puddle, captured in fast motion. When the wound was completely capped, the replacement tissue flooded with healthy colour.

She remembered her old rationalisation. _We aren't meant to live forever. Death is a part of life._

"Welcome to immortality, Lara Croft."

The archaeologist's head shot up.

Faro stood flanked by her men. She gloated, "It makes everything rather pointless, doesn't it? Every friendship. Every romance. No matter how much you love someone, you _will_ lose them. There's nothing you can do but watch them wither.

"Even if you eventually get around to saving Sam, one day she's just going to die in your arms as a white haired old woman. Insane once more with senility perhaps. The same for Jonah. Your unchanging nature will keep you separate forever from the people you need the most."

 _It was true. Forever apart. Forever alone._

Lara's chest and throat constricted. She swallowed, trying to force open an air channel.

It wasn't working.

The panic was setting in. The hyperventilation.

She could see Sam in a hospice bed, wasted and brittle with age. And she could see herself, exactly as she was then – healthy, strong, perpetually twenty-five – clutching Sam's bone fingers as she apologised yet again for failures that meant they could never be.

 _I'm so sorry._

Lara tightened into the protection of Child's Pose, with her arms folded over her gut. Her shuddered breathing was one degree removed from a sob.

Faro sounded elated at the reaction.

"Look at it this way. You've finally got what you always believed was true. That this is your path and yours alone."

The Englishwoman curled tighter against the terrifying realisations.

"Lara, are you listening?"

Finally the archaeologist raised her face. "You – you realise what you've done?"

Faro cocked her head. "What's that?"

Lara's expression hardened. The tension spread down her neck into her limbs. It slowed her motions; made them staccato and unnatural.

She uncurled like a cobra. And like a cobra, her gaze never left Faro.

"You just created the greatest enemy your organisation has _ever_ known…"

Lara let her fists unclench. Nestled in her palms were two grenades with the pins removed.

"…Like I said earlier. You all die horribly."

The next instant, three things happened. A Trinity goon groped uselessly at the empty slots on his belt. Faro's smile flatlined. And Lara flung her explosives.

One went in the direction of her foes.

The other landed beneath a fused stalactite and stalagmite Lara had identified as a ceiling prop.

Faro was as smart as the Englishwoman surmised. The Trinity agent's jaw unhinged. She shrieked, "Shit! Get out! Now. _NOW_!"

As they scrambled for cover, the bombs went off.

An initial spray of stone fragments was followed by an awful cracking sound. Chunks of rock dropped from the ceiling next; the smallest the size of a football. Another archaeological marvel was about to be lost to the world – a legend that people had sought and died for, for millennia. Yet Lara found herself exhilarated.

She called out over the escalating collapse, "You will _never_ get what you want. I will dedicate every fucking second of my existence to stopping Trinity. Destroying every single one of you! Take _that_ news back to your masters."

Then she sprinted for the tunnel that had originally brought her to the cave.

The destruction trailed her as she raced back to the water and her stowed dive equipment. While she ran, she brushed off pieces of crumbing rock that struck her. They were as meaningless as rain drops.

She'd once marvelled at how human Jacob was, despite everything. Yet he was the exception. Every other immortal she'd encountered had been a monster, wading through blood of their own creation. In that regard, she wasn't any different.

But was she really closer to the Deathless Ones than The Prophet? She couldn't believe that.

She wasn't Jacob – she never could be because of her ferocious temper and capacity for violence – but neither was she one of those faceless brutes, mutated by selfishness. Her way had always been one of dark, underground altruism.

That wouldn't change.

Her place in the world though; her relationships to others….

Faro was right.

Though it didn't mean the smirky bitch had won.

Lara didn't know what she was, except for one thing.

Unbroken.


	4. Please

**Please**

 _Note: The following is a phone call set after the wholly underwhelming ending to the Himiko possession saga, in Dark Horse Comics' Tomb Raider II #12. Because, really, after 18 months of waiting, this is the resolution – Sam on ice again?_

 _Issue 12 spoilers ahead…_

* * *

Hey, Lara.

It's Sam.

I'm not really surprised this went straight to voice mail. I'm gonna assume you're out of cell range in the middle of nowhere, or travelling _to_ the middle of nowhere. That's pretty much your life these days, isn't it? Cut off from everything and everyone.

Honestly, I'm not even expecting you to respond to this. It's just… I wish you'd talk to me.

I mean, a box of Jaffa Cakes? Seriously, Lara? Is that really how you're going to leave things between us? If you die tomorrow in some lost tomb in the middle of the Himalayas or wherever, that's all I'll be left with – a bulk pack of biscuits? Oh, and the knowledge that the last time we spent any amount of meaningful time together, we were fighting.

I know I played a big part in that. I wish I could blame Himiko, but losing my shit was all me. I could see you were different after Yamatai, pulling away, and as far as you were concerned there was no place for me anymore. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? We were always such a good team. I loved helping you and suddenly you could only see me as something slowing you down. A damsel in distress. I'm not stupid. I saw that look in your eye. Pity and worry all the time for me.

Even now, I know you think you're protecting me.

But that's bullshit! I fought Himiko. I stabbed her. I opened my eyes and got her out of me. You're the one making excuses. And I don't know why. Why won't you tell me?

Then again, I guess that's the difference between us: I shout and sulk, and you run.

Lara Croft. The Lone Wolf. The great unknown martyr. But that's bullshit too. What's going on in your head that you think you have to live like that? What are you so afraid of that you keep trotting out these stupid B-movie rationalisations?

"I need to do this alone." Just… what the fuck, Lara? Who are you now? Did Himiko actually take your soul too? Cos more and more you're looking like a hollow version of yourself.

I know that if we could just sit and –

Shit, my mom. If she found out I called you, she'd completely freak out. And how fucking stupid is that? Like I'm a grounded 15 year old.

I just want my life back. I want you back in it.

We've been through so much, and lost so much.

Don't shut me out.

Talk to me.

Please.

I love you.


	5. R & R

**R &R**

 _Note: This ficlet follows on directly from the events of Rise of the Tomb Raider. Contains game spoilers._

Sofia raised her cup. "I am glad I did not shoot you, Lara."

Lara chuckled as she lifted her own cup. "I'm glad you didn't shoot me."

The brunette was still smiling to herself as she took a sip. Sofia was always so straight-faced, it was unclear whether the toast was meant jokingly or with complete sincerity.

Lara's throat constricted the second after swallowing the samogon. Her eyes watered reflexively, and she started to cough.

"Wow, that's strong."

"Our Winters are long and harsh," Sofia responded simply.

"Well, that's certainly a drink born of its environment."

The archaeologist continued to splutter. She dared another sip in the hope it would calm the spasms in her throat. Instead it felt like her tongue and oesophagus were being doused with paint stripper.

"Holy shit," she gasped. "And that's coming from an ex-barmaid."

That produced a wholly unambiguous grin from the Remnant.

"Lara Croft. Defeats two armies almost singlehandedly. Then is defeated herself by a drink even our children consume."

"Now, now," Lara replied, wiping her eyes against the back of her sleeve. "Greek Fire has _nothing_ on this. Next time I'm just chucking bottles of this stuff at Trinity."

Both women laughed.

They sat side by side on a bench in front of Sofia's cabin. A few days earlier they had occupied the same spot while Lara relayed the final moments of Jacob's life to his daughter.

Now they watched dusk deepen into night over the Valley.

Lara closed her eyes for a moment and just listened.

Insects. A bird back late to its roost. The crackle of cooking fires and the murmurs of men and women around them. Otherwise, quiet.

So different to London.

She would miss it.

Sofia spoke her thoughts for her. "You leave tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'm finished here."

Oaths had been fulfilled days earlier; their official parting made. Yet, Lara had lingered while Jonah got his strength back. It had given her time to delve deeper into the Valley's mysteries. Centuries of secrets layered upon centuries, as distinct to her as a core sample to a geologist. It was incredible. Now, though, it was time to go home.

Sofia leaned over with her bottle and topped up Lara's drink.

"Are you sure you wish to linger so long?" the redhead murmured. "I heard Nadia is looking for you."

Lara straightened in her seat. "Oh, God. Nadia. She's lovely, but just so – "

"Exhausting."

"Yes. Exactly that. A human puppy dog. You can't hate her, but her exuberance… She just never seems to wind down."

"She has always been like that. I recall once, when she was a child, even my father becoming exasperated with her. Ivan was so apologetic."

Lara laughed. She liked this side of Sofia – a little looser, a _lot_ less intimidating. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or perhaps it was the exhaustion of her new leadership role among her people.

The redhead looked incredibly tired. She could set an impassive mask over her features, but her eyes showed through, and they always gave away her true emotional state.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Sofia," Lara remarked. "Well, eventually."

The Remnant frowned. "I regret my earlier actions."

"Don't. I'm used to people trying to kill me."

When Lara's joke didn't soften Sofia's scowl, the archaeologist added, "Seriously, I do understand. I would be the same if I were in your position."

That did it. With a sigh, all stiffness went out of Sofia. She curled forward so that her elbows rested on knees. She addressed the dirt between her boots.

"I do not know how my father did it. He spent so much time teaching me, preparing me to lead, because we both knew this day was coming. But right now it does not feel like it was nearly enough. So many unanswered questions."

She turned her head to the archaeologist. "There is never enough time, is there?"

"No." _A single gunshot from the study._ "No there isn't."

Their mood was veering towards jagged melancholy. Lara tried to steer the ship away.

"Another toast. To daughters left with the secrets of their fathers."

She held out her cup to Sofia.

Pottery chinked as her companion responded with a wry smile. "And their intimidating legacies."

Sofia drank without flinching. She smacked her lips, and swirled the remaining liquid around in her cup, before asking, "What is your next step, Lara?"

It was the Englishwoman's turn to sigh.

"I suppose I try figure out what Trinity's next move is; learn what or who they're going after, and stop them."

"And what about five years from now?"

"Five years? Is this a job interview?" Lara quipped.

"Please entertain my curiosity."

"Alright. I – " She felt her cheer vanish, as if suddenly sucked down a plughole. "I don't know. I try not to think about it."

"Because you think you will be dead?"

"Dead is probably what I will be. But no. It's the alternative that frightens me. What's _after_ all this _?_ If I accomplish the impossible and destroy Trinity, what then? What's waiting for me when it's finally all done? Maybe – "

Lara's eyebrows climbed. This chat with Sofia was proving more enlightening than any of her sessions with Ana's bought-off psychiatrist.

"Maybe that's why I've dedicated my life to looking backwards. Mysteries of the past I can solve. That's much easier than trying to decipher the future."

Sofia set her cup on the ground. "Is there a place in your future for love?"

" _Love_?" Lara stared at her companion. "I didn't take you for a romantic, Sofia. Or a philosopher. Booze always have this effect on you?"

Sofia shook her head. "My father felt such love. For God, for our people, for my mother, for me. So many different kinds of love. I know he viewed it – loving others – as a weakness, but I believe it was exactly that which kept him human. Unlike the Deathless Ones."

It was an interesting, if idealistic, theory.

As Lara began to prod at the idea, Sofia continued, insistent. "Perhaps that is true immortality. By expressing our love, and allowing ourselves to receive it, we live on – in the memories and hearts of others."

Lara guffawed, "I think perhaps you're more like your fath– "

Sofia's lips crashed into hers.

Lara's reflex response was to jolt backwards, but her companion had already seized her cheeks, preventing withdrawal.

It wasn't a bad kiss by any means.

Just… surprising.

And it shocked Lara how quickly her body reacted. When Sofia finally broke from the embrace, adrenalin had prickled the archaeologist's skin and turned her heartbeat into a hum between her ears.

Flustered, she was incapable of verbal response. The only thing that came to mind was a dry deflecting comment about the assertive courtship rituals of Remnant women.

Yet even if her tongue would cooperate, she couldn't say that to Sofia. She liked her too much.

She didn't want to hurt the redhead just when she had scraped together the courage to batter through her stoic shell. From the moment they met, Lara had realised that Sofia was someone who hid her emotions – whether out of self-defence, or because she could not afford to show any vulnerability with so many turned to her for protection.

While Lara was still trying to puzzle out a diplomatic response, Sofia plucked the brunette's drink away. Then she squeezed Lara's empty fingers in her own.

"Do not distance yourself from others, Lara. No matter how much you hurt, or they hurt. Or even how much you _fear_ the prospect of hurt. Use your heart. Allow yourself to feel happiness, however briefly it arises. Not from this…" she cocked her head towards the battered Valley, "but from living, breathing people. Otherwise I worry about what you may become."

Lara looked down at the women's entwined digits. Their hands were the same. Exactly the same.

The archaeologist lifted her eyes.

"Sofia…"

"My father believed you are extraordinary. I believe that too. But you are not invulnerable. Take care of yourself."

Sofia initiated a new kiss, far gentler than the first.

A small part of Lara demanded resistance after the first ambush. The rest of her, though, was content to run with it. To actually encourage the kiss while her consciousness wailed its ambivalence.

If she didn't think too deeply – if she just let her body feel – she could admit that it had been so incredibly long since she last experienced any form of physical intimacy. Since anyone touched her bare skin with such tenderness.

It sent her as drunkenly off-kilter as if she had chugged back on a whole pitcher of the Remnants' home brew.

Eventually, Sofia withdrew, releasing her grip on her companion at the same time.

"I am going to bed," she declared.

Back to business, the redhead stood. Lara watched her retreat to the modest wood and stone cottage behind them.

At the doorway, Sofia leaned momentarily against the frame. She glanced over her shoulder.

"You may join me for your last night, if you wish."

Then she entered the house, and closed the door.

Lara remained seated.

With the setting of the sun, the temperature had dropped. No longer bracing, it was becoming bitterly cold. Steam puffed from between Lara's lips as she tried to steady her breathing. She had started trembling too, but she didn't really feel it.

It could have been the moonshine. Or perhaps Sofia had inherited some variation of Jacob's healing touch. Either way, Lara was largely indifferent to the chill.

She gazed out over the village.

Somewhere down there, Jonah was being tended to by Sofia's people. She could picture him cheerfully sharing recipes over a venison dinner.

Beyond the settlement, firelight gave way to darkness. There, in the blackness of the forest and the ruins of Kitezh, sprawled dozens and dozens of bodies she was responsible for.

Far beyond that was an island where the situation repeated. Lost among the bone and ash in that hellish place lay what remained of Roth, Grim and Alex. Again, her responsibility.

Pripyat.

Mexico.

Death, destruction and misery shadowing her everywhere.

Even home.

She thought of Sam in that London prison, her face contorted with anguish and acid hatred.

And she thought of Sofia. Waiting right behind her. Alive in her cabin. Deliciously warm. Free of loathing.

Offering a single evening of respite. If the archaeologist would accept it.

 _If_ she would accept it.

Slowly, Lara got to her feet.


	6. You Winston, You Lose Some

**You Winston, You Lose Some**

Scuffling behind her.

Instantly, her skin prickled. That was one thing she wished she could turn off at will – her survival instincts' tendency to outrace rational thought. She was home, safely entrenched in the manor's secret underground research lab, protected by a security access pad _and_ reinforced steel doors. Still, she was on edge. The smallest unfamiliar noise and she turned bristling cat, claws out. Her body was ready to fight, whether she needed to or not.

At least her pistol was in a drawer at the other side of the room. It had been awkward for the both of them last time she drew it on him.

So she pressed her palms flat on the table to prevent any scrambling for a weapon, and used yoga breathing to suffocate her anxiety until it was too weak to have any influence over her limbs.

Her voice came out a lot steadier than it felt in her throat. Steadier, but frayed.

"What, Winston? Is there another invoice for me to sign? I'm busy."

"I am simply making your Ladyship aware that the Manor's plumbing has been completely repaired."

"Good."

Any other servant would have left it at that, but the old butler cleared his throat and continued. "I know you have developed an attitude to personal cleanliness as laissez-faire as your attitude to bodily sustenance but you no longer have any excuses."

 _Any opportunity for a gibe._

It had been over a decade, but that disinterested voice still had a knee-jerk effect on her. Within arm's reach was her untouched lunch: a ham and cheese baguette. She snatched at it, tore away a chunk of bread with her teeth and chewed petulantly. "There," she garbled with her mouth full. "Delicious. Life altering."

Once she'd swallowed and rubbed her hand over her lips, she turned around. She languidly folded her arms and leaned back against the examination table.

"You know," Lara Croft sighed, "I hauled you out of retirement to run this place. I can put you right back there."

Winston ignored her. He was too busy shaking his head and muttering into his chest.

"I blame all those years spent with Conrad Roth. That man's influence; he was always so uncouth."

"Tell me how you really feel."

Winston raised his eyes to hers. "You did not have the most conventional upbringing. Quite unbecoming for a young lady actually; so much time spent with soldiers turned treasure hunters."

"And crusty old butlers." She liked the way that comment jolted him. For just a heartbeat that stiff upper lip bowed.

Her follow-up jab was much softer. Reconciliatory even. "Not enough time, Winston. Not nearly enough."

She didn't wait to read his reaction. She flipped herself around and returned to scowling at the table's surface.

She could hear Winston advancing into the space until there were only a few feet between them.

"Are – are things not going well, Mistress Lara?"

"I'm stuck."

"Perhaps some fresh air. A stroll around the grounds. A climb even on that wall you put in."

"Maybe." She groaned. "But I feel like I'm right there. I have all the pieces. I just can't fit them together, make the connection that's staring me in the face. It's taunting me."

Five days and she still was no closer to a solution. It didn't help that she was trying to make sense of her findings remotely. It never compared to being in the field, breathing in the stale, dusty air that made her nostrils itch; running her fingertips over engravings as she translated out loud. Her original notes, some photos, less than an hour of video footage – that was all she had left after her botched Iran expedition. Along with a grazed elbow and eight stitches.

The collapsed temple hadn't been what she expected. Instead of the legendary Cup of Jamshid, she just found more clues to its hiding place. Cryptic riddles in word and art, stringing her along like one of Sam's aloof Tinder dates. The hunt was still on.

"Sod it," she hissed.

Winston coughed politely. "From what I recall, patience was never your strong suit."

"Are you still going to laud that over me? Yes, you consistently beat an eight year old at chess, well done."

Winston parried, "An impatient, hot tempered eight year old. And in some regards you have not changed. Not one jot."

"Would you like a rematch? That can easily be arranged."

"I look forward to it, Mistress Lara."

When Winston spoke again, his words were lilted with hesitancy. "M'lady, there is something else."

Lara turned to face the servant as he stepped forward. He held up a silver tray containing a single cream envelope.

Lara pulled her face at the pretension of the presentation.

"What's this?"

She lifted the envelope.

"A formal invitation to the impending royal nuptials, I believe."

Lara dropped the envelope as if it had stung her. It struck the silver with surprising force.

Evidently Winston had been expecting such a response. His frown radiated disapproval. "Your ladyship's father was a Peer." He added, "As are you."

Shaking her head, Lara backed away from the platter the same way she might a big cat. "I'm definitely not that kind of Croft."

"I may assume then that your RSVP is a…?"

"No! _God, no_."

"As your Ladyship wishes."

Winston gave a stiff bow that didn't extend below his ribs. As he straightened, he caught his mistress's eye. "Although, if I may say so, the occasion would be an excellent opportunity to meet a young Lord."

"Excuse me?"

"A young man fitting of your station."

He was completely serious.

Lara's exasperation vented as a chuckle. "Of course I get what you're driving at. But for God sake, I'm 23."

Her face felt strange. Laughing, smiling – her muscles were out of practice.

Winston didn't say anything. He simply gave her a look. _The Look_.

It compelled her to argue her case, the same way it had when she was a child caught misbehaving. In adulthood, she managed not to stumble over her excuse at least. "I'm fixing the manor up. What more do you want me to do?

"Fixing it up to be a museum."

Lara blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"When you started this project, I thought perhaps it was an indication of you moving on. That perhaps a Croft would finally _let go_ , and just live. Let themselves be happy."

"You think I've forgotten what my father's obsession did? My entire life has been spent dealing with the fallout."

"And yet you would repeat it?"

That struck a nerve.

"You expected what, exactly?" Lara shot back. "The pitter-patter of little feet in this place? That is _never_ going to happen, Winston." The voice of a sullen little girl echoed when she added, "And I'm not repeating anything."

Winston remained expressionless. "Mmmm, as your Ladyship insists."

With that reply, she expected him to retreat. Yet, he remained rooted.

Riled up, she snapped, "You're hovering, Winston. What else do you want to say?"

"Perhaps your Ladyship would like to engage more with the workmen?"

A fresh wave of annoyance poured over her liked warm, viscous oil. "Now why would I do that?"

"Well, word has reached me of rumours."

"What rumours?"

"That the first thing the Countess of Abbingdon does on waking every morning is disappear down to the wine cellar for hours on end."

"I can live with them thinking that."

Winston's arched a single eyebrow. "That your Ladyship has accepted her inheritance only to sink into drunkenness? That the last Croft is a mad, perpetually sozzled hermit?"

"That is far from the worst thing that's been said about me."

"But – "

Lara gave a smug grin. "Vanishing into the wine cellar is preferable to the walk-in freezer, don't you think?"

Winston's lips pinched together, colourless. His Adam's apple bounced once above the lip of his collar before he murmured, "I remember that place exceedingly well, thanks to your Ladyship."

"Good. Then we're on the same page."

She returned to her work. Behind her, she could hear Winston pottering about. The clink of metal against ceramic told her he was cleaning up her desk, which she knew was in a awful state. She'd let it get out of control, between her research and the debris left from the many meals, treats and cups of tea the butler had brought her.

The clatter and scrape went on for a while, to the point that irritation began to percolate fresh in Lara's gut. She didn't want to lose her temper twice in quick succession, so she doubled her concentration on the Avestan script before her.

Just when she thought the din was over, Winston piped up. "Mistress Lara, do you know the history of the sandwich?"

"The etymology? Earl of Sandwich. Reportedly wouldn't leave the cards table. Got his servants to place his supper between two slices of bread so he could eat one-handed."

"Very good. So what do you suppose would be the definition of a _Croft_?"

Lara stiffened, but didn't turn. "I haven't the foggiest. I don't play cards."

"Or chess very well."

Lara gritted her teeth. "Please enlighten me as I'm sure you plan to do."

"Based on the evidence before me, I see a _Croft_ becoming the popular term for a forgotten, half-drunk cup of tea."

"Droll as always, Winston." She didn't need to spin around to know there would be a victor's twinkle in his eye.

"There is one last thing," the old man added.

Finally. Then she could be left in peace.

"Hmm?"

"With the renovations just about complete, will your Ladyship be taking over your mother's old quarters? As opposed to sleeping on a couch in the study hall like a squatter."

"I – I never thought about that." Honestly, the consideration hadn't even entered her mind. The West Wing had been off limits for almost her entire life. Even with her name on the title deeds in the safe, large parts of the estate still didn't feel like hers. Yet Winston's earlier comment about the Manor as a museum grated her.

He pressed on. "The Master Bedroom would be more fitting for the Countess of Abbingdon as opposed to – "

"Yes. You're right."

Silence behind her. She could picture Winston wide-eyed and gaping over a battle so easily won.

The Croft family servant cleared his throat. "I will commence preparations at once." Another pause. Then, "While I'm at it, may I do up the guest room?"

Lara glanced over her shoulder. "What on earth for?"

"After your Siberian foray, I thought perhaps Mr Maiava would be moving in on a more permanent basis? Taking over cooking duties at the very least, although you hardly touch your food."

"No. Jonah has his own life. He _should_ have his own life."

"Apologies, M'lady. I presumed – "

"Hold on a second." Lara flipped around. She saw it then – Winston's discomfort; the way he was continually shifting his weight as if his shoes pinched.

"Do you think we're involved? _Romantically_?"

Lara laughed heartily. She let Winston stew in his over-familiar embarrassment for a second before adding, "Jonah is like a brother to me. A big, overprotective brother."

 _Little Bird and Mister Sauce_.

Winston spluttered out his clarification. "It is just – what I mean to say is that the Manor is very large. Extremely large for one young woman living alone. I thought perhaps it might be good for you to have some company. Like Mr Maiava, or your lady friend from university. Miss Nishimura, I believe?"

The mention of that name extinguished Lara's smile as effectively as if a blade had been applied to her throat.

Winston tipped his head in the direction of the desk. "You don't have pictures of your parents here, yet there's one of her."

"I don't want to talk about Sam." Lara's voice had turned hard in defence against the steel's bite. The last thing she wanted was for it to draw blood. Again.

"You had a falling out?"

"Something like that."

"Oh dear. I hope the situation is repairable; that things can be salvaged."

"One day, perhaps. I – I laid some groundwork for that, I hope."

 _But she'll probably never forgive me._

Lara couldn't enjoy Jaffa Cakes anymore for that specific reason. They tasted like cardboard or ash depending on her level of regret that day.

"You always sounded thick as thieves."

"We were once."

 _All those wild adventures together. The shared dreams and plans over curry. What it felt like to just rest her head on Sam's shoulder and cling to her after a bad day. A different, ordinary life._

The knife broke skin. Lara shuddered; clenched her eyes shut.

Winston was still nattering on. "If that is the case, then – "

Lara's eyelids shot up. "Just drop it, okay, Winston? I said I don't want to talk about it."

There was aggravation as a result of light-hearted teasing, and there was dark fury born of remorse, and fanned by forced reminders. Winston had served the Crofts long enough to know how easily members of the family switched between the two.

"Of course, M'lady, I apologise."

His expression added a fresh layer of guilt, and Lara winced.

As the old man moved towards the exit with his loaded tray, she blurted, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's just – " _It hurts too much_.

Winston blinked at her slowly, like a cat might do.

"Mistress Lara, if I may be so bold as to say there is nothing to be gained from cutting yourself off. This great house has seen its fair share of tragedy."

"I swear it will end with me." Something dark skittered behind her vision. "One way or another."

"That is what I worry about."

Winston looked down at his platter, before slowly raising his eyes to his employer. "When you called, and brought me back, I thought perhaps it was all to be a fresh start. For the house, for the Croft family, but most importantly, for you. I saw it as a sign that you were learning to rely on others again; let them into your life."

Well, that punched her right in the feels.

Lara rubbed her forehead. "I'm trying, Winston. I am. But my work – "

" – is isolating, yes, by its very nature, and for long periods. However, your entire life does not have to be like that. It will not be easy, Mistress Lara, for either you or those that love you. But I guarantee there will be loved ones willing to shoulder that burden, and all the accompanying risks, come what may."

Lara didn't have a response for that. She scowled at her boots while her cynical side sparred with its more hopeful equivalent over the nature of her future.

When the business with Trinity was done, would she actually be able to rest? There was no question that she would always search for answers, but there had to be space in her existence for other things too, surely? A week of snorkelling and beach cocktails in Mexico, perhaps? Dinner here and there with the few friends she had left?

 _You become who you are through your choices, through the love you give and the promises you keep._

Did she have to wait so long? She was always stiff and sore. And so exhausted, physically and mentally. Her creed of self-reliance was wearing her down. Already she felt little more than skin pulled taut over bone, sinew and will. She was under no delusion that she could last forever like that.

Having had his say, Winston left her to simmer.

As he stood on the lab's threshold, though, he called back into the room. "Oh, with the plumbing functional, I thought it best for the workmen to move on to the basement tunnels, and repair the water damage."

"Good idea," Lara replied absently.

"Would your Ladyship like them to remove _all_ the old debris down there?"

Lara knew exactly what he was referring to. A few months earlier, crouching and wading thigh deep through those ominously decayed spaces, she'd been surprised to find so much still there: the Ancient Egypt-themed decorations, the improvised traps, her mummified teddy. Everything that had been done to make that birthday so special for her.

Everything done then. And still done now.

Her head snapped up. "No, I want them left where they are."

"Because of your father," the old man nodded.

"No, Winston, because of you."

It took a few heartbeats but the words melted through the butler's gravitas. The tiniest smile shone through, like scale spotted just below a pond's surface during the Spring thaw.

But Lara didn't want to her oldest ally to feel embarrassed over his emotional slip – so unbecoming as he would see it.

She forced a smirk. "Also, make sure the chess set is set up for after supper. Tonight I'm kicking your arse."

That did it. With a single sucked-in breath, Winston had recovered his decorum. Chest thrust out, he gave a sharp bow before revolving on his heel. "As your Ladyship commands."


End file.
